


Did you Lock the Door when it Shut, did you see the Knife when it Cut?

by tameimpala



Series: Crossfire [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Drunk John Winchester, Episode: s07e03 The Girl Next Door, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Other, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 07, Teen Winchesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For some unknown reason that probably only God himself knew, partially drunk John was way, <b>way</b> worse than three sheets to the wind John. </i>
</p><p>Sam returns to their motel after clearing the scene at Amy's house. When his brother and father return John is irritable and hostile as soon as he steps foot through the door. He looks for a drink in their room and ends up finding a fight.</p><p> <span class="small">Pre-series: set after the flashbacks in <b> S07E03 The Girl Next Door</b>.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Door

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a Coda to the flashbacks in _The Girl Next Door_ however I did write the fic to be part of the Crossfire series, which is more a collection of works exploring the same themes with a lose narrative threading them together. But you don't really need to read the previous fics in order to read this one :) 
> 
> Title is taken from a Brandon Flowers song called **Lonely Town**
> 
> \+ WARNING: ABUSIVE JOHN WINCHESTER

* * * * * * *

  


  


**Lincoln, Nebraska, 1998 **  


The jet black car glinted in the light thrown off from the windows of the house. Sam watched from the cluster of trees to the left of the building as his brother and father got out of the impala, guns raised and moving silently in tandem. The youngest Winchester had got a first hand insight of the monster's point of view tonight, and watching his family break into the house with frightening purpose he understood why Amy's mother had been so eager to leave town quickly. Even from afar Sam could see the dead, calculating look on his father's face that radiated murderous intent, and when he found the already cold body of the Kitsune he would not be happy that his prey had been dealt with by hands that were not his own. Sure enough, Sam could just make out the annoyed grunt that echoed through the open window and the subsequent orders that he was sure were being barked at his brother. 

Sam had told Amy that he would take care of the body, it was the least he could do considering she had killed her own _mother_ to save him. Although between helping Amy gather her things before she high-tailed it out of the house to the nearest bus station and the threat of John and Dean arriving soon, guns blazing, Sam hadn't had time to get the body out of the house. Instead he'd attempted to arrange the scene into something that resembled a suicide. He moved the body onto the couch where he and Amy had kissed just hours ago, before this had all turned into... well... his life, removed the blade from her back and prayed that his father wouldn't look at the wound too closely as he placed the knife in her hand. Sam had also arranged a couple of empty jars that had once housed parts of human brains in front of the body to suggest she'd had one last hurrah before killing herself. 

The scene wasn't that convincing but he just hoped that John would be too frustrated to care. Ultimately, the monster was dead and that was the main goal wasn't it? That was all their lives added up to in their father's eyes, how many monsters lay dead in their wake. At least that's what Dean was probably reassuring him inside the house, minus that second part. 

He could count on his brother and father to clear the house and dispose of Amy's possessive mother. Right now Sam had to make it back to the motel before his own possessive family returned.

  


* * * * * * *

  


Sam had been in the motel room for twenty minutes before he heard the Impala pull up for the second time that night. He was sat with a history textbook in front of the TV, another hopefully convincing scene he'd set up. The out-of-breath gulps of air he'd taken when he first arrived back to their room had thankfully subsided and the thin gleam of sweat had been wiped from his brow, leaving nothing to suggest he'd ran what had felt like hundreds of blocks in order to return with time to spare.

Just as Sam turned the page to a chapter detailing the Secession of South Carolina, a harsh slam of the car door from outside signalled the return of his family. That forceful bang which cut through the quiet September night gave Sam some insight into which John Winchester would be treading the motel room's floorboards tonight- 

...if he didn't decide to go to a bar instead. 

The 14 year old found himself hoping that John would. Even if his father rolled back in at 5 AM the next morning, having discarded all of his drunken resentment and anger in some biker bar, at least then he would only have to hear the ultimately sad and pathetic aftermath of his drunken night out, hear his brother tend to whatever wounds their father had earned from some guy who had been asking for it, hear a tirade of sickening confessions rain down on Dean only to be closely followed by a string of drunken apologies and pleas for forgiveness. No, if John stayed here with the cheap whiskey on the counter and the bottle of Jack that he kept under the sofa then both Sam and Dean would have to view the _progression_. They would have to endure the loose, unhinged bitter honesty that bled from his slightly slurring mouth... 

For some unknown reason that probably only God himself knew, partially drunk John was way, way worse than three sheets to the wind John. 

"Just bring in the bag, might as well use them for something tonight..." Came his father's agitated voice from behind the door. A key was forced into the lock and the door flung open to allow John to march into the room. Dean soon followed in quick pursuit, carrying the gun bag and wearing a tired smile. 

"Hey Sammy, don't tell me you've been reading all night?" Asked Dean, setting the bag down on the table with an audible clunk. 

"I've got a history test tomorrow Dean. Some of us do a little something called _studying_." Sam quipped. 

"Smart-ass." His brother chuckled then glanced over his shoulder as John wordlessly walked into the bathroom and closed the door. The shower turned on a second later but Dean still lowered his voice, "Thought we might come back home to find you and some other pizza-faced ninth grader making out." 

"Shut up," Sam snapped, as if he'd bring a girl back to a motel, let alone this dump, which was as far from a home as you could get. Amy and her mother had been brain-eating monsters and even they had better accommodation than them. 

"It didn't work out," He lied easily, eyes slipping back down to his textbook, "Must have been your stupid advice." 

Dean pretended to look offended at that remark, raising a hand to his chest as if he'd been struck, "What are you talking about? My advice was solid! Still, better luck next time Sammy, I'm sure some geeky goddess will give into your charms someday..." 

He battered his eyelashes at him mockingly and Sam threw a cushion at his head, neither of them noticed the shower abruptly turn off. Instead Dean caught the flying object with ease and was just about to launch it back at his brother when their father re-entered the room. 

"What the hell Dean?" A voice barked from behind him, the older boy froze and John grabbed the threadbare cushion out of his hands. "I told you in the car, this isn't a night off. You can start by cleaning those guns and wiping that damn smirk off your face." 

Dean seemed to shrink into himself, his playful manner obliterated.

"Yes sir." He replied monotonously and sat down at the table, pulling out the already spotless guns from the green marine-issued seabag which housed them.

Sam felt anger boiling up inside him. He knew for a fact that Dean had just cleaned their weapons last week and that this was just John taking out his frustrations on his brother, again. 

He swallowed his protest at the treatment Dean was getting as the inevitable happened. John walked towards the sun-yellowed refrigerator and dragged out a six-pack of cheap beer. They hadn't been on a supply run in three days but somehow alcohol never ran low. Not for John Winchester. 

Both Sam and Dean busied themselves in their respective tasks, Dean religiously cleaned the already gleaming guns and Sam tried to focus on the Battle of Fort Sumter despite knowing that there was a battle brewing right in this rundown motel room, hundreds of miles away from that South Carolina fort. 

  


After 15 minutes Dean broke the tense silence by standing up and creating a high pitched squeal of metal chair legs on cheap pine flooring. John was more than halfway through his third can and kept eyeing up the whiskey on the counter but immediately whipped his head around at the sound of Dean standing up. 

"You done?" He asked slowly, seemingly waiting for his vision to catch up with him. 

"Yeah, I think so." Answered Dean. He had a streak of polish on his right cheek. 

John's eyebrows raised, "You _think_ so? Jesus christ-" Their father hauled himself up and made his way over to the table, beer can in hand. 

He looked at the weapons that lay on the table, each one of them looked practically brand new. Sam had peered over at Dean from above his textbook every so often and caught him disassembling the guns and cleaning each and every part of them. The youngest Winchester smiled as John surveyed the guns, knowing that he couldn't deny that Dean had done a great job. 

"You know where the knives are." Was the only thing John said as he turned his back on Dean. 

Sam's smile dropped.This time he couldn't hold his tongue, "He just cleaned 13 already pristine guns Dad. Why don't you do it yourself?" 

"Sammy it's fine." Warned Dean through gritted teeth, the tone clearly saying _don't provoke him_. 

But really it was too late, it always was. The kind of night they would be having had been sealed as soon as John went for that stagnant six pack instead of a bar. 

  


_'You don't wanna see him when he's drinking.'_

  


_(No Amy you really don't. And neither do I.)_

  


"Sam..." The word slid out of John's mouth and seemed to leave a bitter taste, considering he washed it down with the rest of his beer. He threw the can away from him, if he was aiming for the trash he had missed by a mile. "You really think you're in a position to make suggestions? What have you-?- you've been just lying 'round here all day..." 

"I've been researching your hunt Dad! I've been at the library researching for your lousy hunt!" 

"Yeah some hunt that turned out to be. Fuckin' bitch offed herself, 'course she wouldn't have known we were coming for her if _somebody_ had kept out of sight." John glared at Dean- who was packing away the guns, avoiding the daggers his father was sending him, and headed towards the Whiskey that he had probably been working up to all night. 

Any rational person would have probably thought that finding their job already done for them was a good thing. Sam was willing to bet Dean felt that way, that he was happy that the hunt was wrapped up quickly- monster dead and back to Sammy. But to John... Killing endless monsters, even though they were the wrong ones, seemed to fill up a hole and provide an outlet for his grief. Tonight, his father was especially angry that a tiny piece of revenge had been stolen from him.

John didn't even bother with a glass, he simply poured the amber liquid down his neck, straight from the bottle, as if it were apple juice. He hissed a little after removing it from his lips, scrunched up his eyes for a second then allowed his gaze to fall on the salt line in front of the main door. 

"Can't even keep a decent salt line together." He muttered to himself as he kicked some of the salt (which had shifted from both his and Dean's entrance) back into place. The hunter turned to check on the line that protected the back door, brushing past Dean and nearly knocking one of his immaculate guns off the table. Sam dropped his textbook and stood up, his eye's tracking his father and his mind desperately trying to remember if he locked the door after him. When John arrived there he leant on the handle for balance... and it swung open. 

_Crap._

Sam couldn't see the older hunter's face but he saw the hand resting on the door handle start to shake with anger. He pulled it closed slowly, when the hinge clicked into place it reverberated around the room like a sharp gunshot. 

Through the silence and gritted teeth came John's seething voice... 

"Why... The hell... isn't this door locked?" 

5 days prior, when the Winchester's had first arrived in Lincoln, the Meadow Springs Motel had been the first place they'd come across. It had been a long drive from Arizona and John had just wanted to get them settled in somewhere but when he realized the room had two entry points, he considered trying to find another place. All the rooms in the motel opened out onto a minuscule Swimming pool, which was covered in green algae in addition to the band aids and decomposing leaves floating on the surface. Both Sam and Dean had convinced him to let them stay, thinking that it would be cool to stay somewhere with an actual pool. They were quickly disappointed. But John had not let up about that second entrance ever since. 

Any normal parent would have probably been annoyed at their child for leaving the back door open, maybe at the worst they'd send them to their room. But John wasn't a normal parent, and they weren't a normal family. 

Sam opened his mouth but Dean leapt up from the table before he could speak. 

"I-I just went out, for a second, whilst you were in the shower. Must've forgotten to lock it back up." He lied quickly as he kept his eyes on Sam, clearly pleading with him not to argue or discredit his story. 

The older hunter let go of the handle and turned back around to face his sons. They were all on their feet, the two boys were the furthest apart, with Dean closest to John at the back of the room and Sam standing before the maroon sofa, just next to the front door. The youngest felt stranded and wanted to close the gap between himself and his brother, wanted to pull Dean back and away from their father like he was a dangerous lion that could bite at any moment. But he didn't move, none of them did. 

They waited for the bite.

  


* * * * * * *


	2. The Knife

* * * * * * *

  


  


When Sam was 6 years old he wanted to help Dean cook. 

He had gone into one of the bottom cupboards, fished out one of their endless packets of Kraft's Macaroni & Cheese and ended up getting artificial powder and pasta all over their motel room's carpet. Dean had returned from the bathroom to find the mess and a sobbing Sam who kept on apologizing over and over as the older child tried to clean up. A few pieces of Macaroni had been crushed into the floor and the fine yellow cheese powder clung to the green carpets fibers for dear life. 

Three minutes later their father came home, bloody and cursing. He let Dean attend his wounds up until the point where his heavy eyes lay upon the mess below the kitchenette counter. Sam was quickly ushered into a bedroom by his brother and given his walkman to listen to... _"Any tape Sammy, any tape you want from my bag. Just turn it up loud, as loud as you can."_

He'd picked a battered-up Led Zeppelin cassette called Presence, and jammed it into the walkman...

  


It was an April morning when they told us we should go,  
As I turn to you, you smiled at me,  
How could we say no?

  


Robert Plant crooned over the top of Dean and John's argument. Sam didn't hear a word. Or a single hit.

  


  


## ________________________________________________

  


  


The three remaining Winchesters stood in silence, to anyone peering in through the dirty small window to the front of their room the scene would have resembled some kind of bizarre Mexican standoff. Memories of watching Westerns like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly or A Fistful of Dollars with Dean on dull afternoons flickered through Sam's brain. 

The image of a wild and untrustworthy Eli Wallach swam to the forefront of his mind...

  


_"There are two kinds of people in the world, my friend: Those with a rope around the neck, and the people who have the job of doing the cutting."_

  


Sam knew that it was possible to be both kinds.

He was shook from his daze when John took an extra long drink of whiskey before setting the bottle down loudly down on the table, right in front of Dean. His eyes locked onto his oldest son's, his question however, was aimed at his youngest. 

"That true Sam?" John asked in a barely audible voice, "Did your brother just _happen to forget_ to lock that door?" 

  


He had no back up from Dean, who couldn't turn away from their father. There was no signal of what to do or what to say. Sam's stomach turned, he wanted to tell the truth to help Dean, but confessing also meant explaining why the door was open. It meant telling John where he'd really been. Of course he could lie and say he had fancied a swim in the pool but his father would see right through that, both himself and Dean had been sickened by the state of it. He could lie and say he came through the backdoor on his way back from the library, but he left the library at 4pm- why would he crawl through bushes and hop a fence just to get in the back door in broad daylight? 

There were holes in all of his stories, holes that John would spot ten miles away. 

Sam would eventually break in anger and blurt out how he met Amy and incidentally her murderous mother. He would unwillingly set his father off on a hunt to kill her. He just couldn't do that, she saved his life. He owed her. 

But he owed his brother so much more. Hadn't he been saving his ass since Sam was 6 months old? Dean had taken the rap for him before, so many times. Sam hated himself for allowing him to but by now it was force of habit. It was comforting. _Easy._ His big brother could fix everything, couldn't he? 

"Sam?!" John barked, making both himself and Dean jump. 

He was just about to answer when once again his brother spoke for him ~~(saved him)~~. 

"It's true. When you were in the bathroom I thought I heard someone outside the back door, I went to check, and there was no one there. I got sidetracked and forgot to lock it back up." Dean finally turned away from John, and the shade of red he was turning, to look at Sam with an encouraging expression, "You were talking about your textbook right Sammy? About the Civil War? I got sidetracked." 

He could practically hear Dean's interior monologue that was undoubtedly running through his head... _"please Sammy just agree, just agree and we'll get this over with, he'll pass out soon I promise then it'll be fine, I'll clear him up and we'll all be fine, just agree..."_

He gave in, because he always did. 

"Yeah he's right, I'm sorry." Answered Sam's dry throat. Self-hatred coursed through his veins, but what else could he have done? 

He peeled his eyes away from the floor to look at John, who was unnervingly still. 

  


With one swift fluid move he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and threw it at Dean. It was thanks to his brother's fast reaction and lightning reflexes, which had been perfected due to years of training, that Dean did not end up with a face full of glass. He hit the floor quickly, almost as if he had been anticipating it. The whiskey bottle hit the front door instead, exploding in a firework of precious alcoholic liquid and sending a shower of glass over the carpeted floor. 

A shard landed at Sam's feet and just for a second, it looked like a crushed piece of pasta. 

Everything sped up then. Dean leapt up from the ground and ran at Sam then started pushing him towards their bedroom door. Sam was still facing his father as Dean dragged him away. The oldest Winchester was still looking at the place where the bottle had hit, watching the trails of whiskey working their way down the front door. He looked completely absent, and it wasn't till Dean had managed to get them both into the bedroom that Sam caught a glimpse of recognition in his father's face as he turned towards his sons. 

  


Dean slammed their door shut and slid the latch bolt across, locking it. 

  


He headed towards his bag and rummaged through it. Sam sat on his bed and watched on, wondering what the hell was happening, what this had all turned into... That was when they were both disturbed by a loud bang from behind them. 

_"Dean I swear to God!"_ John's muffled voice came through the thin pine door. 

The older boy simply returned to his bag. 

"What are you-" Sam started to ask, but he was cut off by the sight of what Dean had thrown onto his bed. 

It was the Walkman. 

"No." He breathed. 

"Sammy..." 

"No, you're not making me stay in here with the tapes Dean, I can help! I'm not a kid anymore." 

_"-You let me in there boy, RIGHT NOW"_

"I can help, I can help calm him down!" Sam pleaded as Dean stood next to him and dropped 7 cassette tapes in front of him. 

"You can't Sam, it's my job." Smiled Dean sadly. 

_"-what the hell is wrong with you? Get out of that room you-"_

He sat on the bed and placed the headphones over his younger brother's ears, Sam didn't even fight. 

"Any tape Sammy, any tape you want. As loud as you can." 

_"DEAN!"_

"Dean..." Whispered Sam, but his brother was already at the door. And there was already a tape in the Walkman. 

He waited till after John had landed a hard blow to the door before he undid the latch. Dean opened the door and shut it in 2 seconds flat. He was gone for now, out in the wild. 

  


Sam pressed play on the battered-up cassette player. 

  


Robert Plant was singing once more...

  


Sittin', lookin' at the clock, time moves so slow,  
I've been watchin' for the hands to move,  
Until I just can't look no more...

  


  


He thought of Amy as he turned the volume up to it's highest setting, and wondered if she felt free.

 

 

* * * * * * *

  


  


Sam woke up at 6am in the morning with the headphones wrapped around his head like a noose. Sunlight was starting to bleed through the paper-thin curtains, throwing light onto his brother's bed. 

He was shocked to discover that Dean was actually on it. The 19 year old was still fully clothed, boots and all. He lay on his back, his arms clutching around his stomach and his face bearing a slightly pained expression. Sam noticed that Dean's head was turned towards his own bed, as if he had been watching Sam before he fell asleep. 

He turned to look at the door and saw the brass latch was pulled shut. 

But they weren't locked in. _**He**_ was locked out. 

Sam let his eyelids fall. 

  


He dreamt of the wild west. Of cowboys and outlaws and executioners with his father's face. 

Clint Eastwood supplied him with some words of wisdom... 

 

  


_"You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig."_

  


  


  


So he dug.

  


* * * * * * *

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The song quotes are from Led Zeppelin's _Achilles Last Stand_ and _Tea for One_ , the first and last songs from their album Presence. And the other two quotes (the 'there are two kinds of people' quotes) are from _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_ \- we all know Dean loves westerns :) 
> 
> -as usual I'm sorry for all the Dean hurt in this fic but it seems to happen every time I write anything ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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